Okay
by frecleface
Summary: It's the lazy nights that reveal the most. / Quirrellmort, AVPM-canon. AVPSY-spoilers.


It's quiet now. It's not uncomfortable silence, but a pleasant one. Almost a peaceful one. Neither of them dares to break it, because it's so calming. Not even unwanted thoughts dare to creep their way into either one's mind. It's pure relaxation for almost half an hour.

Voldemort's arm draped over Quirrell's chest finds something to hold on to, and he squeezes it. Just the feel of the fabric of Quirrell's shirt is enough for him to relax even more. He still can't believe his luck. After all this time, he has finally found someone he loves and loves him back. Unconditionally. It's something he never thought he would experience in his life, something he had already completely dismissed. That it wasn't for him. Something that he didn't deserve.

And yet here he is, holding and being held by the person he loves. It's the best feeling in the world, and he doesn't think he will ever get over it. Some people would probably call him lovesick, but he prefers the term lovestruck. Because this isn't a sickness, like he used to think. He was just unlucky enough to be depraved of it for so long.

He feels Quirrell kiss his forehead, and looks up, a reassuring hand lightly brushing against his neck. Quirrell smiles at him, and it makes Voldemort adore him. "Are you alright?" Quirrell asks, as if there was a problem in the first place.

Voldemort offers his own smile and lays his head back down on Quirrell's shoulder. "Yeah. I'm great," he breathes as he closes his eyes.

A few seconds pass before Quirrell speaks again, like he's thinking things over or preparing himself. Voldemort tries not to give into the temptation to read his mind to figure out which one it is. "You didn't use to be, though, did you?" Quirrell asks, gently running his fingertips along Voldemort's jaw.

"Well, duh, I was the most evil wizard in history," Voldemort says, amused that Quirrell would even ask such a thing. "Of course I wasn't alright."

There's a bit of movement, and now Quirrell is lying on his side, having moved his shoulder from under Voldemort's head. He looks straight into Voldemort's eyes, and Voldemort swears he can see some kind of pain behind them. "No, I mean before that," Quirrell says solemnly.

Suddenly, with that one utterance, it's as if Voldemort's mind has been sent down memory lane, one that he's not particularly fond of. He squeezes his eyes shut to get rid of the images and memories that are flooding his mind, and shakes his head. He inadvertently tightens his grip on Quirrell's shirt, which results in him getting a soft kiss on the forehead again.

"It's okay, I'm sorry," Quirrell says, so calmly that Voldemort can't help but settle down as well. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I was just curious. Sorry for bringing it up."

But that's just it, isn't it? Quirrell never makes a big deal out of anything, but the fact remains that Voldemort does. Especially about this. They've talked about each other's pasts, and gone through many nights of revelations and a few cries, but Voldemort has never dared to go into any details about his life. The ones that Quirrell has apparently worked out, but doesn't want to mention out of fear of triggering something. Voldemort just wants to hold him and never let him go. So he does. He tightly wraps his arm around Quirrell and buries his face in his chest, needing a moment before replying.

"It's not… that bad," he says slowly, loving Quirrell's soft touch on the back of his head. "More of a stupid case, if anything. Not nearly as bad as your bullying problem, at least."

"This isn't a contest, you know," Quirrell murmurs, and Voldemort can feel his lips pressing against the top of his head. "Whatever the issue is, I'm here to listen to it. I'll help you through it if I can."

Voldemort loves him. He loves him, loves him, loves him. It's like no matter how shitty Quirrell's days are, he always sets himself aside for Voldemort. And he is so unused to it that it takes him a while to figure out how to respond. Because of course he wants Quirrell to know about it all. Needs him to, even. But where would he begin?

"Does it have anything to do with how you look?" Quirrell asks, and he shakes his head. That's the funny thing about it all. Nobody seemed to mind that he had a snake face. You'd think that would be an issue, but it wasn't. "Your magic?"

This time, Voldemort nods. "Partly, yeah," he replies. "But that's not all of it."

Quirrell is running his fingers along his jawline again. "Okay, but it's a start," he says. "What else was there?"

Voldemort opens his eyes again and looks at Quirrell. He wonders briefly why he hasn't talked about this before. Quirrell wouldn't care what it was. "Well, it's… You know how when Scarfy sorted you, you kind of already knew, but it was still weird to everyone else?" he begins, and before Quirrell can reply, he continues. "That's how it was for me too. Just… long before Hogwarts. It was at the orphanage."

Something changes about the way Quirrell is looking at him. "But Voldemort, you… you're not-"

"Gay, I know, but they thought I was," Voldemort interrupts, clinging tighter onto Quirrell. "They said I was even more unnatural than Damien, and he was the damn Anti-Christ!" His small outburst warrants some soft stroking of his hair, and he calms down again. "Anyway, they kept… sending doctors to look at me. Saying they had to fix me. Not because of the magic, but for…" He clamps his mouth shut, shuddering as he remembers the words. "'Dancing like a fruitcake', they said."

"Oh, Voldemort…" Quirrell breathes. "That is terrible."

"There's more," Voldemort continues. "I got kind of scared of them eventually. Stopped doing anything I liked. Felt miserable. I thought that'd make it stop, but it didn't. They still thought I was an abomination." He adjusts his position so that he is lying more on his back now, but still keeps his face close to Quirrell's chest. "Dumbledore made things better for a bit, I guess."

To Voldemort's surprise, Quirrell snorts. "Dumbledore? The guy you kept calling goody-two-shoes the whole time we were attached?"

Voldemort can't help but crack a small grin as well. "Yeah, seems kinda weird, huh?" he says, and then the grin quickly melts off his face. "But seriously, there was a lot he said that I could relate to. Like, killing a family member, or being magic, and the kicker was that he'd had a boyfriend. He pretty much told me that I should just keep dancing and be myself and it'd all be fine. 'Specially at Hogwarts.

"And he was right, too. I seriously thought I was the only guy in the world who liked to dance, and then I found like three others my first day who did too. So it was pretty nice, Hogwarts. Got to be myself for a while." He sighs.

It has become very clear over time that Quirrell has a knack for just knowing when something needs to be said, or when Voldemort is thinking particularly hard. "But that's not all," he says, and Voldemort nods.

"Got to be a wizard, sure, and got to dance all I wanted, but I never got to be who I truly was," he explains. He then purses his lips before Quirrell can say what he knows he wants to say. "And no, girls can only go so far. May have fooled around with a ton of them to try and convince myself that I'd just been a stupid kid, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was always missing. Made up a mantra that it wasn't guys, no matter how much I thought it was.

"Then Dumbledore came back around and everything fell to shit. He thought I was unhappy because I hadn't met my family. So he sent me to them, the dipshit…" Voldemort practically growls the last words, and he can feel Quirrell's hold on him tighten protectively.

"What did they do?" he asks in a serious tone, as if he is ready to lash out at anyone who dared to touch Voldemort.

"Dude, easy, they didn't _do_ anything," Voldemort quickly replies, noticing the way Quirrell has tensed. "Nothing like that anyway. They were just typical muggle assholes. Even my dad was a complete nimrod. And anyway, their stupidity wasn't the worst. The worst part was how utterly homophobic they were."

Quirrell relaxes a bit, but Voldemort can tell that the word has upset him. "But… you're not-"

"I know, but does it matter?" Voldemort snaps. "How are people so close-minded ever going to accept a son who's bi? They'd pull the 'confused' card, tell me to 'pick a side', say 'it's just a phase'!" He turns back on his side and buries his face in Quirrell's chest again. "I thought they'd accept me. If not for my magic, then for me."

Quirrell holds him, not too tightly, but more in a reassuring way. "I'm sorry your family was a bunch of dicks," he says, and his word choice makes Voldemort's mouth quirk up into the smallest smile. "But at least you didn't have to deal with their prejudice for too long, right?"

Voldemort nods. "Right." His smile fades. "Still, they didn't really help either. See, Quirrell, when you're constantly told that you're unnatural, abnormal and evil, you kind of start to act that way too. I heard people saying these things about me all the time, so eventually, I pretty much got convinced that I was evil _because_ I was abnormal. Never let people get too close to me because of that, so that probably added a lot to the whole evil thing…"

"And then you killed anyone who tried to get you to open up," Quirrell says, and there is something about the tone of his voice that makes Voldemort think that he has just made some sort of a realization.

"Yeah, because I always thought they were just trying to get some kind of reason to hate on me," Voldemort replies as he dips his head slightly. "Or, y'know… to make slurs or whatever."

There is a brief pause, in which Quirrell reaches over to hold Voldemort's hand. "You were terrified of rejection, weren't you?" he asks softly. "Just covered it up with all the evil."

Voldemort has to remind himself that Quirrell can't read minds, simply because what he has just said is exactly right. He clings onto Quirrell, sort of wishing he could stop being so damn vulnerable. "Pretty much, yeah," he admits, his words a bit muffled. "So… yeah, you're right. I haven't always been too good. Not just because of the evil thing, but because of all that too. Knew I'd never be accepted for who I am, so I just stopped caring about anyone. Because nobody cared about me anyway." Now he really wishes he could stop being so vulnerable, because he's actually starting to feel his eyes sting a bit.

Quirrell somehow manages to get even closer, and gives Voldemort's hand a small squeeze. With his free hand, he lightly pushes up Voldemort's chin so he can look at him properly. He then leans in for a short, chaste kiss before pressing his forehead against Voldemort's. The action, little as it is, makes Voldemort's heart flutter, and he isn't sure if he's dreaming or not anymore. "Well, someone does now," Quirrell says and smiles sweetly. "More than you can imagine."

Honestly, Voldemort has no idea how to respond to that. He just looks at Quirrell with wide eyes as he tries to put everything together. That he doesn't have to hide anything anymore, and that even though people in the past were dicks, he doesn't have to worry about it now that he has Quirrell. For a moment, Voldemort struggles with words. Should he reply? That's what he normally does, so wouldn't it be appropriate?

"Hey," Quirrell suddenly says, and Voldemort brings his attention back to him. Quirrell releases his hand and gently puts his own on Voldemort's cheek, which makes it warm up immensely. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything. I just want you to know that I love you, with all my heart. And that I'm here for you." He lightly brushes his thumb over Voldemort's cheekbone, and smiles reassuringly. "Okay?"

It's times like these when Voldemort wonders how on earth he came to deserve any of this. Just looking at his past, there is nothing that warrants this, and he has absolutely no clue how he got so lucky. But damn it, he is so in love with this man, and he never wants to be parted from him again. Voldemort wraps his arm around Quirrell again, holding him as tightly as he dares.

He wants to thank Quirrell for existing, for giving him a chance, for never giving up on him, for loving him. He wants to tell Quirrell that everything is perfect because of him, and that he truly, truly loves him. But the words won't come out. It may have something to do with the lump in his throat, or the fact that he can't put his emotions into words properly. Whatever the case, all Voldemort can do is snuggle up to Quirrell and sniffle a bit as his face finds its familiar place against Quirrell's chest. He'll figure out a way to convey everything someday. For now, he knows it's enough just to say:

"Okay."


End file.
